


So if you don't mind (I'll walk that line)

by beelisburger



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, getting together ... sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beelisburger/pseuds/beelisburger
Summary: Everyone thought that Sylvain always ended up with everything that he wanted. How could he not, with the way his bedchambers buzzed with guests over and over again?But his mind has always been somewhere else, thinking about golden hair that he never dared to caress.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	So if you don't mind (I'll walk that line)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marejorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marejorie/gifts).



> hello! this is my first dimivain, i hope you like it.  
> i wrote this for my friend and it's thanks to them that i got really (and i mean, REALLY) into this ship. i just love writing about sylvain in love, i think he's neat :3c  
> title comes from "i walk the line" by halsey.

_ And I wanna come home to you _

_ But home is just a room full of my safest sounds _

  
  
  
  


Life in the Garreg Mach proceeded as usual. There was training, and there was food, and study breaks, and soft kisses behind bush. Then there was more training, a little fighting, and new lips pressed against his. Sylvain liked the way things were. At least, that’s what he always tried to make sure people knew, at least. In the darkness of his room, his thoughts were his alone. But it was rare of them to see the light of day. 

There were other lips he would look at, but he almost never dared to. It felt forbidden, and dangerous, and sweet. Dimitri felt like moonlight on his fingertips. Beautiful, cold, dark and light. But mostly, it looked just as he was: there and unattainable, close and ephemeral. So he would kiss other lips, and hold other hands, and forget any name they would whisper, because he would never truly care. 

Months would pass, and enemies’ blood would fall on him, showering him on dusty days. But the blood on his clothes never matched up with the red splattered all over his prince’s royal blue clothes. He would always look like a lion, jaws ready to kill. Sylvain would have to stop, and look at him, and wonder how he could look so beautiful on top of so many rotten bodies. He would look, aghast. He almost got killed, once or twice, as he could not stop looking. Byleth frowned, but didn’t say much. He never said much. Only once had his professor looked at him, and said: “don’t waste it”. And Sylvain, terrible student as he was, kept on wasting it. 

Only once, he had dared. Only once he had taken that hand, and caressed those lips. He had thought “ _ Ah. Kissing will never be the same _ ”. But that was a mistake, one that he would never make again. He laughed, but died a bit inside. And nobody but his dark room knew, and the rare tears on his pillow dried alone. 

Then the war came, and with it the realization that Dimitri would never be his, for now he was no longer resting on the room next to his, but six feet under. Five years dragged on, every day more tiring and painful than the one before. He learned the hard way that there was no rest for both the saints and the wicked. And as he was neither, there was no rest for him too. Sometimes, in battle, he would see it. A wild boar, blue and dangerous and armed with a spear. But then he would blink, and the pipe dream would fade. And the smell of ashes, and blood, and tears would reach him, a grim reminder that there was no professor to scold him. They had died, along with the innocence he never truly had. 

But then hope bloomed again. It bloomed, and died, and hoped to bloom again. The nights were restless, and the fights were dirty. The meetings were painful, and Dimitri was no longer himself, except that maybe now it was the truest he had ever been in a long time. On some nights, he would mourn the boy he knew more than he used to mourn the prince he had lost. They were fighting a war, and it seemed like they were winning, but every night Sylvain would feel but loss. 

It took a funeral pyre to bring his king back to life, finally rising from his own ashes. They took back their hometown, and the kingdom was strong, and Sylvain felt the spark of hope in his heart. He dared, again, even though he made a promise of never to. Under the moonlight, looking over the cold stone of Fhirdiad, he took his king’s hand again, as he had done all those years before. But the light on Dimitri’s eyes was different. It was no longer scared, nor taken aback. There was warmth in his blue eyes. There was a light that Sylvain had never seen before, but could not wait to discover. They held each other close, as they leaned on the railing. 

Sylvain stroked Dimitri’s hair, gentleness in both his hand and his gaze. “I kept dreaming of this, you know”. 

Dimitri’s cheeks turned red, and Sylvain had to resist the urge to kiss them again, and again, and again. “I feared I blew it, all those years ago”. 

A smile lit up on Sylvain’s lips, but that was not the moment to give voice to his immediate thoughts. He caressed Dimitri again, not resisting the urge to draw him closer for another kiss. They held each other, as the moon was their witness. In the cold of Fhirdiad, neither of them had felt so warm. They shared ten kisses, then fifty, then Sylvain stopped counting. He stopped thinking, as they exchanged the moon for a fireplace, royal cape and soldier gear for soft sheets. In a moment, a room became a home. 

It was his home now. 

The war was won. What was once broken apart, got united again. And Sylvain kept waking up, every day of his life, in a room full of his safest sounds. 

  
  



End file.
